Sanctuary
by cosmogirl7481
Summary: God had different plans. Change was inevitable. But it wouldn't come to me in the way I expected. Rated M for language and adult themes.
1. Chapter 1

**Sanctuary**

**Refuge: a holy place; a safe place, especially for someone being persecuted.**

The room was quiet, still. There were no lights on, but the setting sun poured in rays of light through vivid stained glass, coating everything – even the air – in glorious color. I could see flecks of dust as they hovered, almost worshipfully, in the open, surrounding space. I could smell the faint hint of lemon furniture polish that coated the wooden pews before me. I breathed in deeply, closing my eyes and holding the air inside my lungs for one...two...three full seconds.

And in those moments, I was fully aware.

I was blessed.

I offered up a prayer of thanks and praise. I asked God for guidance, for strength, for the ability to lead this congregation in His ways, His truth and His love.

This was my church. My very first church. And if I was willing to sacrifice, willing to humble myself, willing to offer my body, my soul, my servant's heart, I knew this place would change me irrevocably.

I walked slowly up the aisle, taking everything in. The pulpit, the piano and organ, the baptismal pool beneath the wooden cross. But it wasn't until I reached the altar and looked to my right that I knew...God had different plans.

Change was inevitable.

But it wouldn't come to me in the way I expected.

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A/N

It's been a (long) while. Hope some of you are still reading.

Thanks to Marvar – still my fic wife and beta-extraordinaire after all these years. You make everything I write better. And ILY.

My pre-readers, Laura and Kourt. They promised me that I wasn't going to hell for writing this story, but then they said if I did, they would be there with me. At least there's safety in numbers.

Reviews are love.


	2. Chapter 2

I stopped.

Everything stopped - my breath, my heart. Jesus, my heart. I wasn't expecting anyone to be there, but there she was. Kneeling at the altar, her head in her hands, her face hidden by waves of long dark hair.

I couldn't tell if she was praying, but I did notice the way she was dressed – too-short cut off jeans that hugged her feminine curves, and a sleeveless white cotton top that rode up, exposing the pale skin of her lower back. Inappropriate for church by anyone's standards, though I'd never subscribed to useless, outdated traditions. Church was a place where you came to commune with God. And to my knowledge, there was no biblical dress code required for worship.

Her feet were bare - a pair of red rubber flip-flops discarded to the side. The soles of her feet were dirty, almost black. I don't know why I noticed that, but it brought to mind the last supper. How Jesus kneeled before his followers and washed their feet. And it struck me as odd, the sensation that filled me to do the same for this girl. I shook my head, forcing the thoughts back. I didn't know what made me feel that way, but I didn't have time for introspection. Because in that moment, she lifted her head and she looked at me. Through glassy brown eyes, she looked at me.

And I felt her gaze.

On me.

Everywhere.

"Oh my god," she exclaimed, clambering on her knees and reaching for her shoes. "I didn't know anyone else was here."

"I could say the same to you," I told her, trying to lighten the mood.

I offered her a genuine smile, trying to put her at ease, but it didn't seem to work. Once she was standing up, her eyes stayed on her feet, almost as if she were afraid to look at me. Or afraid to let me look at her.

"I wasn't doing anything wrong," she said. Her voice trembled, and as I approached her, I saw her body was trembling the same way. "I didn't...I just...I didn't know."

"It's okay," I told her softly, hoping to soothe her obvious anxiety. Even though I had no idea why she should feel afraid, least of all of me. "This is a house of God. Everyone is welcome here. You were just praying."

She laughed.

And I wished it had been a happy sound, relaxed and unencumbered.

But it wasn't.

It was hollow, bitter.

"So, who are you?" she asked. "I've never...I mean, I don't recognize you."

"My name is Edward," I told her, realizing for the first time, where her panic might be coming from. I was, after all, a strange man. Even though nothing about me was threatening. "Edward Masen. I'm the new pastor here."

"You...you're the pastor?"

I nodded.

"Aren't you a little young to be a pastor?"

"I'm twenty-five. I graduated from seminary a year ago, and I've been serving as a youth minister since then. But the lord called me here to serve, so I guess...here I am."

"What do you mean the _lord called you here_?" she asked, her voice disbelieving. "You mean he like _talks _to you?"

I chuckled at her question, but that was a mistake. She visibly tensed and took a step back, her heels pressing against the bottom step of the altar. I silently chastised myself for being so flip. Not everyone understood the kind of relationship they could have with God.

"Not audibly," I said. "But he leads me in his own way."

"Must be nice," she said quietly, pausing for a long time as if she was considering what she should say next. I waited. "But I don't know why god would send you somewhere so...so..."

"So what?"

"_Godforsaken_."

Her voice was barely a whisper, but the word resonated somewhere deep inside me. Not because I believed what she said, but because it was obvious to me that _she _believed it.

"No place is godforsaken," I finally said. "God made everything, so all of it...everything, everyone...we all belong to him."

She stared at me then, her brown eyes piercing mine. And for the first time I saw her face. Really saw it. Deep pink lips stood in contrast against her pale skin, but it was her eyes...her eyes. Beautiful and bottomless, but hard as stone.

She fisted her hands at her side before walking to stand directly in front of me. She was so close that I could smell her. I could reach out and touch her – not that I ever would – but the idea crossed my mind. No, not crossed. The idea lingered.

"I don't belong to anyone," she said. "_No one_. Least of all god."

And with those words still hanging in the air between us, she took off down the aisle and never once looked back.

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A/N

The response to the first chapter this morning was beyond what I hoped for. Thank you all for still taking the time to read my words. I will never cease to be surprised and so happy that you do.

Marvar is amazing and I love her more than Edward. But y'all know that, don't you?

Laura, Kourt and Jaime are also the best and make doing this fun.

I don't really have a posting schedule, but I'll update as my real job allows. I promise not to keep you waiting long.


	3. Chapter 3

I spent the next few days getting settled in. I didn't have much, but thankfully, the parsonage was already furnished. Since all of the previous pastors were married with families, the house was a little big for a single man.

The furniture was tasteful, but from a different decade. It was still nicer than anything I'd grown up with, so I was thankful for it all the same.

On my first night, after I'd spent time reading Chambers, I settled into bed. And in the dark and quiet of the night, my mind wondered to the girl I'd met in the church. I replayed our conversation in my mind, searching for some clue, something in her words that would give me a glimpse inside who she was.

What was she seeking inside the walls of the church?

What burden was she lying down at the altar?

No matter how many times I revisited the conversation, nothing came to me. But I couldn't get her face out of my mind. It wasn't her beauty, although I had to admit she was very beautiful. It was her eyes - deep and haunted – and at the end of our encounter, so very, very angry.

I didn't know what could cause that kind of anger in someone so young. No, that wasn't true. I knew what could cause it, but in my heart, I hoped none of the dark images that came to mind were true.

I closed my eyes and offered up a silent prayer for the nameless girl. I asked God to watch over her and keep her safe. I prayed that she found the solace she was seeking in my church, that God would guide her and comfort her and gather her unto him. And once I'd turned her over to The Lord, my mind and heart found the peace I needed to sleep.

But sleep didn't come easy.

I woke in the middle of the night, my heart pounding, my body covered in sweat. I kicked off the covers, focusing on the white noise of the ceiling fan. And once my disorientation settled, I remembered – with striking clarity – her face, her voice and her eyes…

They had been the center point of my dreams.

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Saturday found me in my office at the church. I was going over the notes for my first sermon. I rubbed my dry eyes, hoping to alleviate the irritation from my lack of sleep. But nothing seemed to work.

Three days had passed since I first saw her in the church. And even though I knew I should be focused on a million other things, I simply couldn't. I'd even gone back to the sanctuary at the same time every day, hoping to see her again. But she was never there. So instead, I would kneel at the altar alone, and there on my knees, I would pray.

Every day.

I was beginning to think that somehow, I'd imagined the whole interaction. I'd even gone so far as to wonder if maybe she was an angel sent by God to test me. And then I wondered if I'd somehow failed.

The light knock on my door pulled me from my thoughts.

"Pastor Edward," a man said, as he pushed the door open and made his way into the office.

I noticed right away that he was impeccably well-dressed, even though his clothes were casual. Everything about him was substantially different from the few people I'd seen around town in the last few days. Not just the clothes, but the confident, almost arrogant way he carried himself. It was also in his smile. He smiled as if he knew all my secrets, only I had no secrets to keep.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," he said.

"The pleasure is all mine," I replied. "But please, Edward is just fine if you don't mind."

"Oh, no," he said, his smile spreading. "That's far too casual for the leader of our church. What if I called you Brother Edward instead?"

I nodded. "If that makes you more comfortable."

"I'm Brother Aro," he said, finally introducing himself. "I am a deacon here in the church. I must say, we've been rather anxious to meet you."

Even though the church bylaws ultimately allowed the members of the congregation to vote on my position, there were no other pastors in the Southern Baptist Convention who were willing to come to this town. Probably because it was such a rural area. However, I'd grown up in a town much smaller than this one, and small-town living wasn't a foreign concept. In fact, I preferred it. So, I'd been given the position somewhat by default. That didn't bother me, though. I knew that coming here was a part of God's plan for me.

"I've been anxious to meet you, too," I offered. "Actually, I've been looking forward to getting to know the entire congregation."

"We're a small congregation by any standards, but you'll find that your new flock is very devoted...to the church."

My fingers traced the spine of my worn, leather bible as I thought about what he'd said. It was probably nothing, but there was something in his phrasing and tone that didn't seem right.

"Devotion is a truly worthy attribute," I said, pausing. "I strive to be the kind of shepherd that leads his life and his flock with an honest, humble devotion to God."

"Yes, yes, of course," he said smiling. "That's what I meant to say. As the pastor, I suppose you would be better with the turn of a phrase. It will be interesting to see if your ways live up to your words."

I didn't like the inflection of his voice or the implication of what he'd said. This was a man a member of my church, a leader among my congregation. I prayed that I was misinterpreting his intentions.

"No man is perfect," I said softly, surely. "And I'm certain that in my life, I will stumble, but thankfully I am held accountable to a forgiving god."

"Ah, yes, "he replied. "But Brother Edward, you are also held accountable to the church board. And while we...how did you say it? Oh, that's right..._strive_. While we _strive _to be as forgiving as our creator, sometimes _we_ stumble and fall short. You shouldn't forget that."

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A/N

You guys are amazing. That is all. Thank you for reading.

Marvar – you are the Adam to my Blake. In other words, you're the hot one…and I am mostly the idiot. Thank you for putting up with me.

Laura, Kourt and Jaime, ILY al SFM.

Reviews are love.


	4. Chapter 4

Sunday morning found me nervous, restless. So, I got ready early and headed over to the church for some quiet time. I wanted to pray, wanted to spend some time alone with God and ask him to calm and prepare me for my first sermon. I tried to ignore the nagging feeling I had in my stomach – the one I'd had every time I'd been there during the week. The one that felt a lot like hope.

Hope that she would be there.

For what, I truly didn't know.

The sun was just rising when I walked inside. It cast a glow over the room similar to the first time I'd stood there. And just like the first time, I wasn't alone.

But the person in my presence wasn't the mysterious girl. It was a man. He was sitting in the first pew on the left. His head was bowed, his hands holding a burgundy bible that was obviously well-worn. His hair was blond, almost golden in the sunlight. And as he looked up, a warm, welcoming smile crossed his face, instantly putting me at ease.

"What a beautiful morning God has given us," he said. "Hello, you must be Edward. Welcome."

"Thank you, sir," I said, offering my hand.

He took it, shaking it firmly. "Sir is much too formal. Carlisle will be just fine."

"It's nice to meet you, Carlisle. It looks like we had the same idea this morning. Please, don't let me interrupt."

"Not an interruption at all, son. I was just praying. Lord knows I can do that whenever I want. It doesn't have to be in church on a Sunday morning."

"Yet here we both are."

He nodded. "I like to come in early. Gives me some time to myself. There's not a lot of quiet in a house full of women. Especially women who're gettin' ready for Sunday services. Between my wife Esme, and our daughters, Rose and Alice, there's more hairspray and makeup in my house than they have down at the beauty school. You know what they say, don't you? The higher the hair, the closer to God." His laugh was loud and warm and wonderful. And it filled the open space around us.

"That's...well, I don't really know what to say to that." I laughed.

"You must not have any sisters."

"No, sir," I said, and with just a look, he corrected me. "I mean, Carlisle. No sisters at all."

"What about your momma?" he asked.

I flinched even though I didn't mean to. If he noticed, he didn't let on.

"My mother passed away."

"I'm so sorry, son," he said sincerely, reaching out to touch my shoulder. He gripped me firmly, holding in his hand in place for just a beat before dropping it. "Was it recent?"

I shook my head. "Don't worry. It's been...a long time."

He nodded, seeming to understand, and offered nothing else on the subject. Instead, he offered something completely different. "I know that you're the new pastor and you probably have a hundred invites already, but if you don't, we'd be so pleased to have you over for Sunday dinner."

"Actually, you're the first person to offer a home cooked meal, and if your family wouldn't mind, I'd really enjoy that."

"My family won't mind at all. In fact, Esme will be so pleased that we have the honor to be first. She's still pretty…Lord, excuse my language…_pissed_ that she didn't get to host the last quarterly deacon's dinner. She swears Sister Sulpicia campaigned against her with the ladies' auxiliary, but I don't know how true that is." He chuckled while I stood there, still reeling from the fact he'd cursed in church. "I hope that didn't offend you. The Lord and I have an agreement. I don't do any of the real big sins like lying, cheating and stealing, and he doesn't mind my language."

I couldn't help the laugh that came out of me.

"Well, language aside, I'd be honored to be a guest in your home, Carlisle. Thank you for inviting me."

"Well, I'll leave you alone," he said, stepping back. "The church fills up pretty quick in the morning with Sunday School and everything else going on. I don't know if you know – not many people do – but there's a prayer room up in the tower above the vestibule. Right beneath the belfry. There's not much in there, but there's a bench beneath the window that overlooks the creek out back. It's pretty quiet, and you could probably have a little time to yourself before you have to shake all the hands in town."

"Thank you," I nodded. "If you don't mind, I might just head up there. I could definitely use some quiet time this morning."

"No worries, son. I'll find you after service. You can ride over with me for supper. I promise to have you back before Sunday evening services. Although, after you taste Esme's banana puddin', you might never want to leave."

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I found the stairwell off the side of the vestibule. I reached out, feeling around on the wall for a light switch that wasn't there. The space was dark, and for just a moment, a feeling of anxiety surged through me. But there was a small light coming from the top, so I decided to walk toward it.

The space at the top of the stairs was just as Carlisle had described – small and bare. The bench beneath the window was wooden, sun-stained and worn. And the light shining in reflected off a small brass cross hanging on the wall. As I looked over to the shimmering object, something else caught my eye. And my breath and heart caught in my throat.

She was there, curled in the corner and sleeping almost catlike in a ball on her side.

I hadn't imagined her.

She was real.

She was there.

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A/N

Thank you for reading. All of you are amazing.

Marvar, ILY. And couldn't do this without you. Thank you for knowing all the things, and for not flouncing me when I don't.

Laura, Kourt and Jaime. Thanks for sticking with me and taking the time to read my words even after all this time. ILY

Reviews are love.


	5. Chapter 5

I couldn't move. The stuffy air in the room seemed too thick, too stale to breathe. I tried to concentrate on my beating heart, on the feel of the bible in my hand, on anything and everything that would tell me this was real.

This wasn't my imagination.

She never stirred, not moving even a muscle. Her dark hair splayed all around her on the floor with the exception of a few damp strands that clung to her face. Her fingers curled into her palms that were pressed against her chest. And all I could think was that she carried tension even though she was asleep. And that made me wonder what kind of burden she carried when she was awake.

I didn't want to think about that.

I didn't want to think about anything other than the way that she looked, the fact that she was there. Really and truly there.

I wondered if I should wake her, but I couldn't. And I tried to tell myself that it was because I wanted her to find the rest she obviously needed, but in my heart I knew that would be a lie. I sat down on the bench, offering a quiet apology to God. I understood, of course, that he knew what was in my heart better than me. And lying was futile – and beyond that, a sin.

So, I watched her sleep.

Watched the subtle rise and fall of her chest.

And I felt – for the first time since I encountered her in the sanctuary – a sense of peace wash over me.

She was wearing the same clothes she'd worn before. There was no evidence of any other belongings in the room. And my heart ached to think that the clothes on her back were her only possessions in the world. Not because I felt that possessions were important, but because something about her made me want her to be taken care of.

And why was she here? In this church? In this room, that until just moments before, I didn't even know existed? Everything that happened in life had purpose. I believed that. So, what was God trying to tell me, teach me? Reluctantly, I closed my eyes and I prayed. I asked for guidance, I asked for understanding, and I asked God to lead me in the right direction.

I had too many feelings. Foreign feelings, feelings I didn't understand. It was more than anxiousness, more than curiosity. It was something heavy in the pit of my stomach, something wrapped around the span of my heart. It was binding and unbinding at the same time.

And then as I prayed, in the dead silence of the room, she whimpered. My eyes flew open, my prayer forgotten, and all of my attention was back on her. She continued to sleep, even though her whimpers turned into cries. And I struggled with myself, my very soul conflicted with the need to reach out and comfort her.

To get down on my knees and _touch_ her.

But that was exactly what I did. My hand found the side of her face, stroking and shushing her in soothing tones. She immediately calmed, though she didn't wake up, and she pressed her face against my palm like an animal seeking warmth. I had a vague recollection of wanting this when I was a child – needing the warmth of human contact when I was scared or sick. And then she reached for my hand, clasping it in both of hers, clinging to it like I was something, _anything_ to hold on to.

And in that moment, I lost myself.

I was lost to way her skin felt underneath mine. I was lost to the way I seemed to calm her down. It was me – my touch. And I wanted it. I wanted that feeling, but in that same moment I knew…those feelings were wrong.

My touch was supposed to be about her comfort.

Not mine.

I allowed myself just a few seconds longer, then whispered, "I'm sorry you're hurting. And I'm sorry if you're scared. You've come to the right place because God can help you. He…He helped me." And then I pulled away, feeling cold, even in the light that beat down on me through the window.

I couldn't even stay kneeling next to her on the ground.

I stood at the door, looking at her once more. I decided not to wake her. She obviously needed the rest. And church was supposed to be a shelter for the tired and weary. Yes, I decided. That is what Jesus would have done.

He would have let her rest.

He would have offered her refuge.

But he wouldn't have acknowledged that by leaving her sleeping, she would probably remain until after the service. He wouldn't have been hopeful about that fact. And he wouldn't have longed to see her again for reasons he didn't fully understand.

But I was feeling those things.

I felt them, and the only thing I could do was acknowledge them to myself and to My God. I couldn't go into my first service – I couldn't lead my first sermon – with a lie between us. And as I offered him the truth, he offered me a scripture. It came to me vivid and plain as day. And even though I could see it in my mind, even though I knew each of the words by heart, I opened my bible to Peter. I stared at the worn pages, the words written in black on white, and I read out loud:

"_**Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers a multitude of sins."**_

I asked God to keep her there, to keep her safe. And I promised that if given the opportunity, I would – with his guidance – help her and love her in the right way.

And with that prayer still in my heart, I left her behind in the light and stepped back into the darkness of the stairwell.

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A/N

You're all amazing. That is all. Thank you for reading and supporting me.

Marvar is the mocha to my latte. In other words, she makes me better.

Laura, Kourt and Jaime – thanks for your encouragement and feedback. ILY all.

Reviews are love.


	6. Chapter 6

The rest of the morning passed in a barrage of shaken hands and introductions. Unfortunately, my mind wasn't focused like it should have been. It was still back in the prayer room at the top of the tower where she lay sleeping. And when the bell chimed in the belfry, noting the beginning of the service, I couldn't help but wonder if it woke her up.

Would she leave?

Would she stay?

The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach told me I already knew the answer.

I looked out over the congregation, only seeing a few familiar faces. Carlisle and his family sat in the fourth row back. His wife was lovely, and their two daughters were each the spitting image of one of their parents. Carlisle smiled at me, nodding his head like he knew how anxious I was feeling. And for some reason, the gesture made me feel exponentially better, at ease.

Directly in front of them was Brother Aro. His wife sat at his side, her head bowed and hands folded in her lap. And next to her was a young man and woman. The young man with the dark hair and even darker eyes had a look of indifference on his face. In fact, he looked bored, irritated. But the girl to his left caught my eye. She definitely didn't seem bored. She smiled sweetly before looking down, her lashes covering her cheeks. I almost expected her to blush, but no color filled her face. And when she looked up again, her eyes held mine for longer than felt comfortable. Instinctively, I looked away.

The pianist took her seat at the piano and the entire congregation rose in unison. And as we sang "To God Be the Glory," I closed my eyes, quieted my thoughts, and prepared my heart and soul for worship.

It was Brother Aro who introduced me to my new church family. He walked to the pulpit, smiling at me before he turned to face the congregation.

"We welcome a new member to our flock today. A _shepherd_," he glanced knowingly in my direction. "And I encourage you to accept this young man into our fold. Open your hearts, your homes. Let us show him that while we may be a small town, God resides here. His Word has _always_ been revered here. Brothers, Sisters…I give you our new pastor, Edward Masen."

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After the service, I stood at the front door of the vestibule as each of the members passed by me, shaking my hand and offering me words of welcome and encouragement. I wished that my mind had been more present, and not thinking about the girl. I wished even more that she was, by some miracle, still upstairs. If I could just get through the line, I could go back up to check on her.

"That was a fine service, Brother Edward," Aro said, clasping my hand between his. "This is my wife, Sulpicia, and my children, Alec and Jane."

I nodded at all of them.

"It's a pleasure to meet you."

Alec looked me up and down as if he were sizing me up.

"Pretty young to be a pastor, aren't you?"

"I suppose," I nodded. "I'm only twenty-five, and I guess that's pretty young to be called into service. But then again, Jesus was only thirty-three when he made the ultimate sacrifice for all of us, so who am I to question the age in which God called me."

"Alec," Aro interrupted. And with one word, his son stood down. "You'll have to forgive my son, Brother Edward. He's just…unaccustomed to someone his age holding such a position of power."

"My position is not one of power," I said softly. "It's one of service, and I'm humbled to have to opportunity."

He laughed, and for some reason, the sound of it gave me chills.

"Make no mistake, Brother Edward. Your position is one of vast influence. You shouldn't underestimate the authority you possess."

I didn't respond. Quite honestly, I didn't know how to.

"But today is such a lovely day," he continued, the tone of his voice changing. "We have plenty of time to discuss religious philosophy. And we were hoping that you could join us for Sunday dinner."

"It would be an honor," his wife interjected. "You could get to know Jane. She sings, you know. Almost every Sunday. She didn't prepare anything for today, what with it being your first service and all, but I'm sure we could get her to play something for you at the house. You really should hear her voice. It's…well, it's downright angelic."

I looked over to Jane. She smiled at me briefly before looking down again. She almost looked shy but for some reason, I didn't get the impression that she actually was.

"Thank you for the invitation," I said. "And I would be the honored one, but Carlisle Cullen and his family have already invited me to dinner. And I accepted. Maybe we could do another Sunday?"

"Of course," Aro nodded. "We should have known your company would be in high demand. Everyone wants to meet the new young man who moved to town. We don't get many transfers in these parts. I'm anxious to know your story. I'm certain it's…fascinating."

"I don't know about that," I said, chuckling through my sudden discomfort. "My story is pretty boring, actually."

"Oh, Brother Edward," Aro said, his eyes narrowing even as he smiled, "I don't believe that for a minute."

I didn't have time to think about his words, or what they meant because thankfully, Carlisle came up behind him and said, "Now Brother Aro, you're taking up all the new reverend's time. And some of us have hams in the oven and baseball games to watch at home."

His interruption was a welcome one. And I smiled at the man who unknowingly saved me.

"Of course," Aro said. "Another time, Brother Edward. I'm certain I'll see you soon."

"I look forward to it," I said. "It was a pleasure to meet your family."

"The pleasure was all ours," Jane said, exiting quietly behind her mother and father.

"Thank you," I said to Carlisle, before I could think better of it.

"No worries, son. I know today must feel a bit overwhelming. If it helps, I promise today will be relaxing. No church talk. Just good food and sweet tea."

"That sounds perfect."

"Esme and the girls are gonna head on home. And I'll be waiting by the car when you're finished. Do you need to run home and change?"

"No, but I do need to check on something before we leave. Do you mind waiting a few minutes?"

"Not at all. Take your time. I'll see you in a bit."

I got through the rest of the line, even though all I wanted to do was go back upstairs. A part of me knew she'd be gone, but a bigger part of me still hoped that she'd stayed.

And what then?

What would I do if she was actually still there?

I didn't know.

I only hoped.

The moment the line cleared, I ran up the stairs, taking two at a time. When I reached the top, I closed my eyes for just a second, and then looked inside.

She was gone.

The room was bare.

My heart dropped and I sank down on the bench under the window.

Who was this girl?

Why did thoughts of her consume me so?

I didn't have any answers. I didn't really have anything at all. Except that wasn't really true, was it? I had something. It wasn't much, but it was enough. I knew that she was real. And I knew she'd come here to sleep. And because of that, I knew – beyond a shadow of a doubt, I knew – she'd come back.

And when she did, I'd be here waiting.

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Thank you for reading.

As ever, Marvar is amazing. I couldn't do this without her. Seriously, you don't even know.

Laura, Kourt and Jaime make this fun. And their feedback keeps me writing.

Reviews are love.


	7. Chapter 7

Carlisle was standing next to a black sedan when I finally walked out of the church. He was smoking an old wooden pipe, and the sweet smell of pipe tobacco filled the thick summer air.

"The Lord and I have a few other agreements, as well," he said chuckling. "I hope the smoke doesn't bother you."

"It's not my place to be bothered by anything you do," I told him. "Although, if I'm being honest, I'd think your doctor would be worried about you smoking more than God would."

"Well, since I am a doctor, I guess I should be just fine. Because I'm not worried about it at all. Esme's cooking will take care of me long before this pipe. I'd like to say it was her pretty face I fell in love with, but I'll tell you, son, I didn't know I loved her until she baked me a pineapple upside cake. I'm pretty sure I proposed on our next date."

I laughed as we both got in his car.

"What did she say?"

"Would you believe she told me no?"

"No, sir. I don't know that I honestly would."

"Yep. Told me to ask again when I was finished with school and could afford to buy her a house big enough to raise babies. I didn't mind so much because she still cooked for me while we were courting. And you know what? The moment I finished my residency, I bought her the biggest house I could find here, and we've lived there ever since."

There was something so laid back and reassuring about his presence, his calm demeanor. And I found myself immediately at ease with him. Maybe it was the easy way he'd befriended me. Maybe it was the fact that genuineness seeped from his pores the way the cherry-scented smoke escaped his pipe. But whatever it was, I knew that Carlisle was a blessing. And I was grateful that God brought him into my life.

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Dinner with the Cullens was exactly what I needed. Their home was lovely, warm. Just like its owners. Carlisle had been right. Esme's cooking was something to fall in love with. And I couldn't remember ever having a meal that filled me up so completely. Both literally and figuratively. It was a kind of peace and happiness I'd never really been able to find outside my relationship with God. And I found myself falling silent and just taking everything in.

His oldest daughter, Rosalie, was a sophomore in college a couple hours away. But she came home every weekend to be with her family. Or as Esme put it, "to get her laundry done and eat all the food in the house." Alice had just graduated from high school, and was spending the summer at home before going away to college in the fall. She wanted to follow in the footsteps of her father. She planned to major in pre-med and then go to medical school, so she could eventually come back and take over the family practice. And as I listened to her talk about her plans, I glanced over at Carlisle, only to find a look of sheer pride on his face. To see that kind of parental love – well, it did something to me. It filled me with an emotion I hadn't felt for a long time. So long, in fact, I almost didn't recognize it for what it was.

Jealousy.

But still, it was there. And as everyone headed into the living room after dinner, I had to take a moment to excuse myself and walk out on the front porch.

I didn't like feeling that way, and it had been so long since I'd allowed myself to wallow in any sort of self-pity. And I shouldn't have allowed it then, but the feelings were so intense, so tangible. All I could do was just stand there and let them wash over me.

The smell of pipe smoke and the sound of creaking wood preceded the warm hand on my back. "Is everything okay, son?" Carlisle's voice was as warm and welcome as his touch.

"It's…everything's fine," I finally said. "You have a lovely family."

"Thank you. There are definitely worse lots in life than being surrounded by three beautiful, opinionated women. I'm a lucky man."

"You are," I agreed.

"Are you missing your momma?"

I flinched, expecting him to pull away at my reaction to his question. But his hand remained there, steady and sure and calming.

"No," I told him. "Not like that. Not in the way you're probably thinking."

He moved to stand beside me. I didn't look at him, but I could tell that he'd adopted my pose. Neither of us spoke for a while as we looked out over his yard. The sun was high, bright. I had to squint just to see. And I told myself it was the light causing the moisture that collected in my eyes. But in the pit of my stomach, I knew that wasn't true.

"I know," he started, "I mean, I can tell that this isn't something you're willing to talk about. And I'm not saying you have to. But I just want you to know that despite all my flaws, I am a man of God. And I might not understand everything that you're going through, but I have two ears that aren't good for anything but listening. And they're here should you ever find yourself wanting to talk."

I almost did just that. I almost opened up and told him everything that I was feeling. I almost told him about my past, about everything that had led me here. I almost told him about the girl. I wondered if he knew who she was, if he had any insight into her story. But all of it seemed too personal, too much to share with someone I still didn't really know. And yes, there was a part of me that thought – and I didn't know why – that not talking about her to anyone was protecting her in some way. And even though I didn't know _why_ she needed protection, I just knew that she did.

So, instead, I told him, "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

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A/N

Man, you guys are really creeped out by Aro (and his family). Lulz.

Thank you. Thank you for every moment you take to read my words. Thank you for every review, every comment or tweet…just thank you. I know this story seems different. And it is. But at its core, it's still a cosmo story. Just remember that. You're all pretty and ILY.

Marvar is the sunshine to my cloudy day and I'm so happy she's my girl. She makes my words pretty and doesn't just tell me to stop using commas, she tells me _why_ I need to stop using them. She's amazing and I love her.

Laura, Kourt and Jaime make my life and keep me writing. Oh, and they're pretty and funny and amazeballs and I love them, too!

Reviews are love.


	8. Chapter 8

I stayed in my office at the church after the Sunday evening service. The entire place was quiet, desolate. And while some people might have found it unsettling and eerie, I'd always found solace in the church. It was the first place I'd ever learned acceptance. It was the first place I'd ever felt safe. So, the quiet didn't bother me. And neither did the dark. Because I knew God resided within the walls. And because of that, love resided there, too.

Yes. Even in the dark, the church was a safe place.

It was after ten, and there was nothing left for me to do. I couldn't even pretend to read anymore. I rubbed my tired eyes, and stood up at my desk. The moment I felt the weight if my body on my feet, I felt a fluttering anxiousness in my stomach. I hadn't heard anything, but I couldn't help but wonder if she was here. Was she upstairs in the prayer room? Was she at the altar in the sanctuary like she'd been the first time that I saw her?

I left everything in my office and slowly made my way downstairs. I decided to check in the sanctuary first. I flipped the switch in the vestibule before opening the door the chapel. I propped it open, allowing the light to illuminate the space, and as I made my way down the aisle, I couldn't help holding my breath. This only intensified the feeling of my heart pounding in my chest. Because, honestly, I didn't know what I was going to say if I saw her.

I only knew I needed to say _something_.

When I reached the front of the church, I looked down at the altar, and she wasn't there. I glanced back over the pews, and there was nothing. No movement, not a single sound.

_She had to be in the prayer tower._

I walked quickly down the aisle, and headed to the stairs. And the stairwell was so dark with no light coming from the top. And for the first time all night, I was momentarily scared. It wasn't that I was scared of the dark; it was the feeling of not knowing what was or could be right in front of me.

When I made it to the top, I stepped inside the prayer room. It was still dark, but the moonlight came through the window, drenching the room in a translucent, white glow. Nothing was different than it had been in the morning. The bench was still there underneath the window, the metal cross still hung on the wall.

But she wasn't there.

And because of that, everything felt empty.

I sat down on the bench, defeated and resigned. I'd somehow missed her again. Maybe she'd already been here. Maybe she'd come in the middle of the night when she was sure she'd be alone. But I couldn't let go of the feeling that this was where I was supposed to be. Not just in this small town, in this small church…but there in the prayer tower waiting for her.

So I did.

I waited.

There in the silence, with nothing but my thoughts and my breath and my beating heart that ached for a girl I didn't know. And as I waited, I closed my eyes. Everything slowed until all that was left was the sleep that took me.

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When I opened my eyes, my body ached and my blurry eyes sought focus in the still-dark room. I couldn't see my watch. I had no real idea what time it was, but the moment my mind cleared, my first thought was of the girl.

Had she come while I was sleeping?

Did she see me in the room?

Did it drive her away?

I had more questions than answers, but I accepted the reality that I wouldn't find her tonight. I stood up, stretching my tight, sore muscles, and dejected, I headed slowly down the stairs. I went up to my office and grabbed my keys. I left my Bible, knowing I wouldn't read any more tonight. And on my way down the hall, I decided to stop in the restroom.

For just a second, I thought I heard a sound, but I convinced myself it was just my mind playing tricks on me. I opened the door, expecting more darkness, but I was greeted with warm light, the sound of running water, and the vision of dark, wet hair falling against creamy, white flesh.

Naked flesh.

And God help me, I couldn't – not for the life of me – look away.

She was leaning over the sink, faucet still running. And her body was beautiful in its naked form – smooth skin covered in glistening drops of water falling from her hair. Soft, rounded curves, from the arc of her waist to the swell of her hips. I'd never seen a naked woman – not in my adult life.

Not ever like this.

And I couldn't stop watching, couldn't stop taking every inch of her in. And I wish I could say I was ashamed in that moment, but there was no guilt to be found. There was only her beauty, her perfect body.

Just her, standing there in front of me.

Just me, unable to stop watching.

Unable to do anything, anything…anything at all.

But my body was a different story. It responded immediately, and I could feel myself grow hard. I wasn't unaccustomed to sexual urges, or my body's natural inclination to respond. But those had been adolescent fantasies or morning responses to hormones and dreams I couldn't control and vaguely remembered. And none of them had ever lived up to the beautiful reality of the woman before me.

She turned to the side, bending over and pulling something from a small canvas bag on the floor. And I could see the full swell of the side of her bare breast.

Oh, God.

She was naked.

And I was aroused and staring at her like some lecherous man – leering at her as if she were nothing more than an object. When she was just a girl, someone's daughter…a child of God.

Then, it hit me.

Shame.

It crashed over me like a breaking wave in the ocean. I was humbled and embarrassed by my actions – so disappointed in myself that I couldn't help the words that came from mouth.

"I'm…I'm…Oh, God….I'm so sorry."

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A/N

You guys make me happy. Just sayin'. Thank you for reading.

As ever, Marvar is the Christina Yang to my Meredith Grey. In other words, she's the smart one, and I am the one obsessed with sex. Also, I love her, and she's my person.

Laura, Kourt and Jaime – I couldn't do this without them.

Reviews are love.


	9. Chapter 9

I ran down the hall; the only sound was my falling footsteps on the carpet. When I reached the vestibule, my heart was pounding, my breathing labored. And I struggled with the need to try to erase what I'd seen and done from my mind, and the truth that I probably never would. I couldn't un-see her.

Her body.

Her curves.

Her naked flesh.

"Hey!" I heard her call out behind me. "Hey, stop!"

I backed myself into a corner, willing myself to stay planted. I looked down at my feet on the floor. I couldn't look up – not even when I knew she was standing right in front of me.

"Did you enjoy the show?" she asked; her voice was dull, indifferent. But I could hear a hint of anger just beneath the surface. Or maybe that was me – I _wanted_ her to be angry. She _deserved_ to be angry.

"I didn't…" I told her, not bothering to look up into her eyes. "I didn't know anyone was here."

"Is that why you stood there so long and watched me?"

My eyes flew up at her words. Had she seen me? Did she know?

I finally looked up and saw her. Her hair was still wet and dripping down onto her shoulders, and saturating the thin, white tank top she was wearing.

_Don't look._

_Don't look._

_For the love of God, don't look._

"I didn't…I wasn't…" I stammered, but I had to stop because I wasn't being honest. I _had_ stood there and looked at her. I had violated her privacy while she was naked and vulnerable when I should've been protecting her.

"I saw you," she said, stepping closer. "I saw you in the mirror. And you didn't _see_ me see you because you were too busy looking further down." She laughed bitterly. "So, did you? Did you like what you saw?"

Her eyes were so dark, so intense, and they held mine without flinching. And in that moment, she didn't look like the girl I watched sleeping in the prayer tower. There was nothing weak or helpless about her. In fact, standing there in front of her, it was me… I was the weak and helpless one.

"I don't…I didn't mean…"

"You didn't…you didn't…" she said responded, her tone mocking. And then she slowly brought her hands up over her hips, her waist. And God help me, I watched as she then cupped her breasts. "I get it." She continued, "I have nice tits. I mean, you like them, don't you? They're nice and full, and I'm young…so, they're still perky. I don't even have to wear a bra. Fuck, I'm not even wearing one now." She smiled. "But you know that. You know I'm not wearing a bra because you're looking. You're watching me rub my tits. You're hoping my nipples get hard – hoping that you'll be able to see them through my top. And I'll even bet you're wondering what they'd feel like in your hands…or your mouth."

She stepped even closer. So, close – too close. I could smell the scent of the hand soap she'd used to wash her body. I could feel her breath. And beyond that, I felt something stronger, something deeper and more desperate. The desire to actually do what she was saying. The realization punched me in the stomach, and I withdrew further away from her, pressing myself against the corner as hard as I could.

"I don't," I lied. Not because I wanted to lie, but because I couldn't tell her the truth. She didn't deserve my truth. She didn't deserve to be treated like a sexual object. She didn't deserve any of this at all. She deserved so much more. "I…I'm sorry. I don't…I didn't mean… I'm a pastor. A man of God…"

"Fuck that," she said. "That doesn't mean a goddamn thing. You know what men of god are?"

I stood there, silent. I didn't know what to say.

"Men of god are the fucking worst. Because you think that they'll be different, but they aren't. They're even shittier than every other man because they hide behind their bibles and their hypocrisy and their need to pretend that they're somehow better than you. But you know what? You're all the same. Every single one of you. Even you…the fucking pastor. What was it you said the other day? That god called you here?" Her laugh was dry and dead…hollow. "Did he fucking call you to stare at my naked body? Did he call you to want it? To…_covet_ it?"

When I didn't respond, she continued.

"Yeah, I know your fucking language. Probably even better than you do."

"No," I whispered. "Oh, God…no. You have it all wrong. Please, I just wanted…I just…" I tried to find the right words to tell her how I really felt. I needed her to understand that I just wanted to help her. I just wanted to know who she was and why she needed help. But there were no words. There was nothing I could do or say to make her understand what my true intentions were because any chance I'd had was ruined by the shameful way I'd objectified her. "I just saw you, and I knew that you were…just that you were staying here…or something. And I…"

Before I could continue, she cut me off. "You just what? What do you want? I mean, now you know my dirty little secret – that I've been sneaking in here at night. So, what? What do you want? How can I reciprocate the hospitality? What will it take to make it up to you, _pastor_?" She pushed herself up against me. I could feel her breasts against my chest. She ran her hands up my arms. And I stood there frozen, scared of doing the wrong thing. And then in a lower voice, she continued. "Do you want me to suck your cock? Do you want me to get down on my knees right here and take you out. I'll bet you're big. I'll bet you got hard while you were watching me, didn't you? I'll bet you're hard now…"

She slid a hand down my stomach, and I panicked.

"Stop," I yelled, mortified by her actions and sickened by my own. "Just stop!" I pushed her away from me. She stumbled and fell, and I followed immediately behind her. I reached for her, hoping she wasn't hurt. I wasn't a man who pushed women around. "I'm sorry. I didn't…I don't…I don't want any of that. God, I just...I just…I wanted to help you."

Her eyes met mine, and just for a second – not even long enough for a breath – I could see the hurt and confusion there. And I wanted to take her in my arms. I wanted to hold her and tell her that I was sorry for whatever happened to her that caused her to feel this way – to think that she needed to degrade herself like that. I wanted to apologize a million times for making her think it was what I wanted, or that I was anything like the men she'd described. And Jesus help me, in that fleeting moment, I wanted to kill whoever made her feel like this in the first place.

Because all of this wasn't just about me.

But then, just as I inched closer – just as her small hand was within my reach – her body stiffened, and her eyes turned to steel.

"Fuck you," she spat, pushing me away. "Fuck you and your help! I'm not going to be the Mary Magdalene to your Jesus in whatever fucked up little play you've worked out in your mind. I don't need your help. I don't need anyone! I can take care of myself…I've _always_ taken care of myself!"

She scrambled up off the floor, and before I could stand, she ran out the front door of the church. Still shaken, I got to my feet and chased after her, out into the dark night. I couldn't even call her name. And by the time I reached the edge of the parking lot, she was gone.

And it was all my fault.

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Thank you for reading. I'll just be over here hiding and wondering what you think.

Whenever I think of Marvar, I have a difficult time not wanting to break out in a Stevie Wonder song. You know, because she's lovely as a summer day and I love her. She makes my words less embarrassing. Seriously.

Laura, Kourt and Jaime all mean the world to me. And their feedback makes me want to continue writing chapters. I couldn't do this without them either.

Reviews are love.


	10. Chapter 10

I don't know how long I stood at the edge of the parking lot looking out into nothing. I waited, hoping she'd return, but deep down, I knew she wouldn't. And when I finally accepted the truth of what had actually transpired, I locked up the church and headed for the parsonage.

There wasn't a sound in the middle of the night in the small town, and outside of the four walls of the church, I found myself on edge. When I reached the edge of my yard across the way, I noticed a dark figure at the end of the stone gate along the front. For just a second, I hoped it was her, but as I approached, I knew it was a man. My heart rate quickened, not because I was scared, but because I was caught off guard. I gripped the keys in my hand tightly, breathed deeply, and moved forward. Who would be out – be here – at this hour?

"It's a little late for you to be out, Pastor."

It took me a moment to recognize the voice. And having only heard it once, I still wasn't positive it was him. But as I drew closer, even in the dim light of the moon, I could see his face.

Alec.

"I fell asleep at the church," I said, happy that it wasn't a lie. "I guess this week has been more taxing than I expected it to be."

He nodded, but offered nothing further.

"And what about you, Alec? What are you doing out so late? And why are you here? Is there something I can do for you?"

He still gave me nothing, but I could feel more than see his eyes on me, taking me in, just appraising as he'd been earlier that day in the church.

"Don't worry, Brother Edward," he said calmly, emphasizing my name. "I don't think there's anything you can do for me. I just had some plans that fell through. That's all."

The silence that stretched on between us became uncomfortable – though, all my interactions with him had been uncomfortable.

"Well," I started, unsure of what to say, "I'm sorry about your plans, but if you don't mind, I think I'm gonna head inside. I need to get some rest so I can be ready for tomorrow."

He pushed off the stone fence, seeming completely at ease and comfortable. I wondered briefly if I was just imagining the tension between us, but everything about him set me on edge.

I didn't trust him.

Not even for a minute.

"Yeah, I'm sure praying is really…taxing," he drawled. "Pretty boy like you needs to get his beauty sleep for all that hard work."

I didn't like the way he called me pretty boy, and I liked even less the way he implied that my job was insignificant. I wasn't important, but God's work was. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something – there was _something_ – dark and sinister about him that called to everything inside me that was righteous. But something else told me it would be wise not to engage him.

"Well, my job would be a lot easier if praying was all I had to do," I said, unable to allow him the final word. "Goodnight, Alec."

I didn't wait for him to respond as I headed to the front door of my new home. My hands shook as I unlocked the door, but I couldn't tell if it was from my encounter with Alec or what had transpired with the girl back at the church. I walked inside, and as I leaned my head on the closed door behind me, it struck me…I still didn't even know her name.

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Two days passed. I spent my days working, preparing for Wednesday night services and the sermon for Sunday. I spent my nights at the church, waiting for her to return.

She never did.

I'd almost reached the point of breaking down and driving out to see Carlisle so I could ask him if he knew anything about her. But I stopped myself because I didn't know how to ask without having to disclose what happened between us. The burden was so heavy. It weighed on my mind, my heart. And in the early morning hours when I'd finally crawl into bed, memories of her affected my body.

I couldn't stop the images that replayed vividly.

I couldn't escape the memory of her naked skin.

I couldn't forget the way my body responded…the way it _still_ responded.

And no amount of humility and shame could stop it – only the sting of icy water in repeated cold showers. And even then, it sometimes wasn't enough.

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Thursday evening found me home. I was sitting on the front porch reading Chambers, a well-worn and earmarked page before my eyes and beneath my fingers. He was speaking of shame – a feeling I was all too familiar with. But up until now, my shame had stemmed from the actions of others, of all the things beyond my control. And now…now my shame was a direct result of my own actions.

I didn't want to think about it. I wanted to retreat into my world of quiet prayer, of selfless service. The world I felt safe in. The world where everything made sense. I didn't want to be here wishing I had handled things differently. I didn't want to live in this space where every moment I had alone, every thought I had of this girl consumed me, when my mind should have been consumed with something…anything else.

But then a thought occurred to me. And it was so clear, so transparent, I couldn't believe I hadn't considered it before. Maybe the reason I felt so connected was because I saw the same shame reflected in her brown eyes. And shame – at its basest core – was just a fear of disconnection. At least that's what it was for me. Being terrified that who I was and what I came from in some way made me less deserving.

But hadn't I moved past all that years ago?

Hadn't I found the acceptance I'd been seeking in a power higher than myself? Higher than everything and everyone around me?

I thought I had.

But in truth, I hadn't.

Not really. Not when just the mention of my past made me feel all that familiar anger, that absolute and singular indignity. The memories of what I had been weren't left somewhere in the past. They were, in fact, still very real. And absolutely present.

I was so lost in my thoughts, I didn't even feel the warm evening breeze blow across my face. I didn't even hear the sound of someone approaching. Even though that someone was the very same someone who'd filled my mind and heart since the moment I'd first seen her.

But then I heard her voice – quiet and soft and nothing like the angry girl I'd come to expect.

"So, this is where you live?"

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A/N

Thank you for reading. Each and every one of you.

The love I have for Marvar is endless. But you already know that.

I also love these other pretty girls – Laura, Kourt and Jaime. They kick ass.

Reviews are love.


	11. Chapter 11

The book I was holding fell quietly into my lap, and when I looked at her, I couldn't even make a sound. It reminded me of when I was a little boy, and there was this stray cat that would come into the yard. We weren't allowed to have pets, so whenever the cat would come, I would try to catch it. I only wanted to hold it and pet it, but I couldn't ever get close enough before the cat would run away.

I didn't want her to run away.

"Yeah," I nodded. "This is where I live." I had a feeling she already knew the answer, but I kept that thought to myself.

"So, what are you reading?" She stepped up onto the second step and looked at the book in my lap. "The Bible or something?"

"Or something." I smiled. I hoped it didn't seem fake or forced. It wasn't, but my nerves were getting the best of me.

I wondered if she was feeling as nervous as me, but if she was, nothing about her showed it. It started to rain, and she took another step up, coming under cover from the mist. I watched as she grabbed the wooden column on the porch and leaned back on her heels. She was wearing another tank top – this one was red. And I averted my eyes the moment I saw it start to slip up on her midriff.

"Don't you _have_ to read the Bible?" Isn't it…like in your job description or something?"

"I do read the Bible," I said, not looking up until I saw her step up onto the porch and walk over beside me. Without another word, she sat down in the wicker chair next to mine, tucking her legs underneath herself and angling her body toward me. "But I enjoy reading other things, too."

She nodded as she looked out over the rain in my front yard. My eyes followed suit. There were so many things I wanted to say, to ask. But I was determined not to frighten her. So, if sitting in my porch beside me saying nothing more was what she wanted to do, I was willing to do the same. I don't know exactly how long we sat there like that. I could only measure it in the million beats of my heart, but eventually she quietly said, "I want you to know I'm not crazy."

"I never thought you were crazy," I responded just as quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I don't believe you," she said simply. "I'm sure you must have...you know...thought something."

I'd thought a million things, most of which I didn't feel comfortable sharing. But I did have one thing – one question I needed the answer to. So I asked, "Honestly? I wanted to know your name."

Her brown eyes widened, and in that moment, she didn't look like the angry girl who'd said all those vulgar things. Instead, she looked lost - almost innocent. And though every sign pointed to the idea that she wasn't, my heart wanted to believe that she was.

Even if it was just a part of her.

"Why do you want to know my name?"

It was such an easy question – simple really. Only for the life of me, I didn't know how to answer her. I couldn't tell her it was because I wanted to know the name of the girl I couldn't stop thinking about and dreaming about because I knew it would only drive her away. I took a deep breath and gave her the only answer that I could. "I want to know the name of the person I've been praying for."

Her eyes narrowed.

"My name is Bella," she said after a long while.

"Bella," I repeated, giving in to this need I had to feel the sound of her name on my tongue, to hear it in my own voice.

"But don't pray for me, Edward. Don't you dare ever pray for me again."

"Why?" The question slipped from my mouth before I could think better of it.

"Because praying is a waste of time."

"I don't believe that."

She crossed her arms, and I hated myself for noticing the way it pushed her breasts up – hated even more the idea that she saw me.

"Why don't you believe that?"

"Because God doesn't exist. And if he… _or she_," she added, almost like she was goading me, "_does_ exist, I don't give a fuck about knowing them, or speaking to them, or wasting a second of my time even thinking about them because God is a sadistic asshole."

It was the most blasphemous thing I'd ever heard anyone say, but I just sat there, glued to her every word, her every breath. And all I could think was that she didn't really believe that. She couldn't. Not when she was the same girl I'd seen kneeling at the altar in my church. Not when she seemed to seek shelter and refuge within the walls of God's house. But there had been no deception in her voice, not hint that she was lying.

"He's not," I said softly. "He's not, and I'm sorry if you really feel that way."

I could feel her pulling away – putting the wall back up that seemed to be gone just minutes before. Why couldn't I say the right things to her? Why couldn't I find the right words?

"You must have lived a pretty charmed life to believe that," she said. I wanted to interrupt her – to tell her that my life had been nothing remotely close to charmed – but she wouldn't let me. "People like you don't understand anything about what happens in the real world. You work for the church, so I know you must see some of it. Do you think it's okay for God to allow the people who visit your soup kitchens to go hungry in the first place? Do you think it's okay for God to allow the wars that kill innocent people? Wars that have historically been fought in his name? Because I don't want to know that god. And I definitely don't want to bow down and pray to someone who would let those things happen."

She was so intelligent. I was in awe. And even in her bitterness, she'd posed serious theological questions that no one – least of all me – had ever really been able to answer. But I just had to ask her, "Why do you come to the church then? There must be something that you're seeking there that you can't find anywhere else."

Her eyes dropped down to her lap. And for the first time, I saw her blush. And it wasn't in mild embarrassment, or coy manipulation.

She was embarrassed.

Ashamed.

And I was the one who made her feel that way.

Her hands balled into fists in her lap. I could see the indentions of her short, bitten nails pressing against her palms. "You already know the answer to that," she whispered. "Or at least you think you do."

"I don't," I told her, unable to deny the anguish in my voice. "I wish I did, and sometimes I think I do, but ever since I saw you in the sanctuary that day, I've been left with more questions than answers."

"I'm…I'm not homeless. I know that's what you think and probably why you feel sorry for me or whatever, but I'm not."

This tripped me up. Because the only think I'd been certain of up to this point was that I thought she'd had nowhere else to go.

"Then why?"

"Have you ever had a place to stay, but staying there wasn't really an option?"

This was it – this was the moment I should've opened up to her and shared my story. And I reached down deep even though I didn't have to. I found the words sitting right on the edge of my tongue, just waiting to fall out to this girl – Bella. Even though I didn't know her.

But just like when I was with Carlisle, the words didn't come.

"I guess not," she said, and I silently cursed myself for being a coward. "I stay there… I stay there because it's quiet and clean and…safe, you know? Nobody bothers me, and I can just…be."

_Oh, God._

The images that bombarded me were too much to bear.

"And the place…the _other _place you have to stay isn't any of those things?"

"I didn't come here to spill my guts out to you." Her response was quick and harsh. "You think you have me all figured out. Just like everyone else. But you don't know anything. And you don't know me at all."

_Please don't run._

_Please don't run._

"You're right," I told her. "I don't know you. Not at all. But I'd like to know you, Bella. And I…I just want to –"

"I can take care of myself."

"Sleeping on the floor alone in an empty building isn't really taking care of yourself."

"I won't," she said, standing up. My heart starting pounding in my chest, terrified that she was going to run away again. I stood behind her, ignoring the thud of my book falling to the porch. "Don't worry. I won't stay at your precious church anymore."

I reached out for her without thinking, and just like the cat in my yard so long ago, she pulled away before I could get to her. But I wasn't a kid anymore, and this time, I wasn't going to let her get away.

"Just stop," I said," running in front of her and facing her on the porch steps. I could feel the rain saturate my clothes, my hair. But none of that mattered. "You're right, I don't know you. But I can't get to know you if keep running. You don't have to tell me anything, but please…please Bella…just let me help you!"

"You can't. No one can."

Lightning struck in the distance and a loud crash of thunder followed shortly after. But the wildness of the summer shower was no match for the storm in her eyes. I gripped her arms softly, holding her in place before me.

"I can if you'll let me."

"There's nothing you can do, Edward. Let me go!"

She pulled free and turned to walk away. But I couldn't let her go this time.

I couldn't.

I wouldn't.

"You can stay here," I said. "Bella, stop! You…you can stay here with me."

.

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A/N

Thank you for reading. And thanks to all the lovely girls who voted for Sanctuary on The Lemonade Stand for FOTW.

I love Marvar. That is all. I couldn't do this without her.

Same thing goes for Laura, Kourt and Jamie.

Reviews are love.


	12. Chapter 12

The moment I said the words, I knew they were a mistake. But I didn't regret them. I couldn't. Not when they made her stop. Not when she slowly turned back around to face me. She looked so much like the girl in the church that night – water soaking her hair and running down her shoulders.

I didn't allow myself to look down further.

"What did you say?" she asked.

I tried to swallow, but my throat was too tight.

"I think you heard me, but I'll say it again if you need me to."

Lightning struck again – closer this time. I wondered if the thunder was a warning, or maybe God was talking to me in the only audible way he could. But it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered in that moment was her. And I couldn't let her go back to whatever hell she'd been hiding from.

"You're crazy," she said. "Like I could just stay here with you. And what? I could pay for room and board in trade?"

"No," I told her, stepping forward just a little. "That's…that's not what I mean. I mean you can stay here. In your own room. I'm not…I wouldn't…I'm not saying anything like that."

She bit down on her bottom lip, but her eyes never left mine. I could tell she was considering it, but I could also see that she was scared.

"Look, I know you don't trust me," I said, inching a little closer. "I know I haven't given you a reason to trust me. And I'm sorry for that. You have no idea how sorry. But please, Bella. Come in out of the rain. We can talk more inside."

I could see the moment she relented. Her entire body went lax and every bit of the tension she held disappeared.

"Okay."

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.

.

She was soaking wet – we both were – and I rushed to the linen closet to grab some towels. She wrapped one around her shoulders, but she refused to move from the doorway.

"Come in," I offered. "Please, have a seat."

"I don't want to get your furniture wet."

I saw a visible shiver run through her body. She wrapped the towel tighter around herself. And I was thankful she was mostly covered up.

"Are you cold?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

"It's fine," she said. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You're shaking."

"It's not that bad. I just need a minute."

"You could take a hot shower," I suggested. "You know…if you wanted."

She eyed me speculatively.

_Stupid._

_She's not even in the house for two minutes, and you're already suggesting ways she should take off her clothes._

"I didn't…I mean, I don't have anything with me to change into."

"I could find you something. I mean, anything I have will probably be too big, but I'm sure I could find something that would work."

She wiped some water off her face with the corner of her towel.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Being so…nice to me? You don't have to, you know? I don't expect anything from you or whatever. I shouldn't be here. I should just go," she said, shaking her head. "I don't know what I was thinking. I can't stay here with you, and you sure as fuck shouldn't want me to."

"Stop." I said. "I told you. I want you to stay. It's better that you're here than wherever else you would go."

"I don't know. This is all too… I don't know…complicated."

It was. She was right. Everything about this was complicated. But I couldn't let her leave. I didn't know how I was actually going to handle everything. All I knew was that I had to find a way to help her. And in order for me to help her, I had to make her stay.

"Everything will sort itself out," I told her. "I don't want you to worry. Are you hungry? You must be hungry. You can take a shower, and while you do that, I can make us both some supper."

"You don't have to feed me." Her voice was bitter and defensive.

"No, but I do have to feed myself," I smiled at her, hoping to alleviate some of her obvious stress. She didn't quite smile back, but I could tell that maybe, possibly she wanted to. "And you're a guest in my home, and as my guest, I'm asking you to join me for supper."

And just like before, when she was standing in the yard, she said, "Okay."

"The bathroom is at the end of the hall. Go on, and I'll put some dry clothes by the door while you shower."

I searched through my drawers for something for her to wear. I didn't have much, and everything I did have was way too big for her. But I found an old t-shirt from when I was in college and a pair of boxers. I didn't want to think about her wearing my underwear, but it was the only thing that seemed like it might work. I prayed she didn't read too much into it.

I could hear the shower running as I placed the clothes outside the door. I quickly walked away before I could let my mind wonder what she was doing inside.

I was placing the silverware on the kitchen table when she walked in. I smiled, then quickly averted my eyes from the sight of her standing there in my clothes. Because the sight of her – it did something to me. And I didn't have time to think about my feelings. Not then. Not with her so close.

"It smells good."

"I can't take credit for it," I told her, walking over to pull out her chair. She sat down, and all I could think was that nothing on the table smelled as good as my shampoo in her hair. "Esme brought over the beef stew this week. I did make the biscuits. But they're just the kind from a can."

"I love biscuits in a can."

I sat down across from her, and she was smiling. For the first time since she'd come inside, she was genuinely smiling.

"Me too," I admitted. "Do you like jelly? I have some."

"What kind?"

"Strawberry."

She nodded.

I went over to the fridge and pulled out the never-opened jar. I placed it on the table and then served her some stew from the bowl. She started eating before I could say grace. I almost bowed my head to pray quietly to myself, but I didn't want her to feel uncomfortable, especially after what she'd said on the porch. So I thanked the Lord silently – not just for the food, but because I knew deep down, he'd brought her here.

She wasn't just hungry.

She had to be starving.

And over the course of our meal, she had three bowls of stew and four biscuits. And I couldn't stop watching her eat. She didn't really talk, and that was okay. There would be more time for words. And while it was important to me that I tried to feed her soul, in that moment, she needed me to feed her body.

And I wanted her to be full.

"Thank you, Edward," she said softly as I cleared the plates and put them into the sink. Her voice seemed to change with her mood from moment to moment. And I couldn't help but notice that I liked the way she said my name. There was no pastor or brother beforehand. I liked that she addressed me as a man. Only by my name.

"You're very welcome."

I sat back down across from her, and she put her feet up on her chair, pulling her knees to her chest.

"Bella, can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah…umm…sure, I guess."

"How old are you?"

"I'm not jailbait if that's what you're asking." A hint of acid laced her tone.

"I'm not asking that," I told her. "But if you were underage, there…well, there would be certain precautions we would need to take. And I don't think it would be appropriate for you to stay here alone with me."

"Well, I'm twenty, so you're good," she said, pulling her knees even closer to her chest. "Besides, people here…well, let's just say that no one really cares about what's _appropriate_."

An ice-cold shiver ran down my spine at her words.

"Did something…" I started, not really knowing what to say. "Has someone…_hurt_ you?"

She looked at something over my shoulder, and without meeting my eyes, she said lifelessly, "Hurt is a relative term, don't you think? And besides, everyone's been hurt at some point."

She was right. And once again, I didn't know what to say.

"Can we maybe not talk about this? I already told you. I don't want to be your woman at the well or whatever. I'm not some harlot you need to rescue. And I can handle all the stones that life throws my way."

I nodded.

"We can talk about whatever you want."

"I'm actually pretty tired. Do you mind…I mean, is it okay if I go to sleep?"

"You can do whatever you want, Bella. I meant what I said when I told you that you're a guest in my home."

"Thank you," she said. "So, where do you want me to sleep?"

I wanted to be very clear with her.

"I have a couple spare bedrooms. The parsonage generally houses a family. Since it's just me, I have lots of extra space. You can sleep in whatever room you'd like."

I led her down the hall, and she chose the bedroom closest to mine. I tried not to read too much into it. I told her goodnight and turned off the light.

"Hey, Edward?" she called out behind me.

"Yeah?"

"Would you mind leaving the door open?"

"Not at all."

I walked back to the kitchen, and as I washed the dishes, I prayed for the girl sleeping under my roof. I didn't know how she'd been hurt, but there was no question that she had. And beyond that, I prayed for the strength and mercy to not want to hurt whoever had hurt her.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt like my prayers went unanswered.

.

.

.

As I made my way to my bedroom, I heard her call my name again. I pushed her door open all the way and peeked in. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. I just wanted to tell you something."

I couldn't really hear her, so I walked over closer to her bed. It was mostly dark in the room, but I could tell she was completely covered up under the sheet on the bed.

"What did you want to tell me?"

"I just wanted to tell you…thank you. You know, for not throwing stones."

I had this overwhelming urge to reach out and take her in my arms – to tell her that I would never let anyone ever hurt her again. But the truth was I didn't know if that was possible. I didn't know if she would run in the middle of the night. I didn't know if I would wake up the next morning to find her gone. So I offered her what I could. "You're welcome." Only that wasn't enough. "Bella?"

"Yeah?"

I knelt down beside her bed and reached out a tentative hand which found purchase on her shoulder. I rubbed her softly. "My life isn't as charmed as you think. I've dealt with my own share of stones, too."

And then it happened. She reached across and took my hand, squeezing it. That was all.

But it was enough.

"I think I already knew that."

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.

When I finally made it to my bedroom, I remembered the book I'd dropped on the front porch. I went outside to retrieve it. And the moment I stepped on the porch, I felt something off…wrong. The hairs on my neck stood on edge, and as I looked out into the night, I saw him.

He was there.

Standing in the same place as before.

Alec.

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A/N

I feel like I sound like a broken record, but thank you for reading. I appreciate each one of you so much.

I have no more words for Marvar, Laura, Kourt and Jaime. I love them all and they make me better. I'm so grateful to have them in my life.

Reviews are love.


	13. Chapter 13

I stood motionless as I looked at him from my front porch. A million things ran through my mind.

What was he doing?

What did he want?

How long had he been there?

But the thought that screamed loudest was, did he know?

Did he know about Bella?

That she was inside the parsonage staying with me?

I didn't have time to form a plan because as I watched him, he looked up.

"Good evening, Brother Edward."

"Alec." I nodded.

I walked out into the yard, trying to keep him from coming any closer. I could still feel the gentle mist of rain coming down, making his presence outside all the more confusing and concerning. I didn't need to imagine what could happen if the members of the church found out that a single woman was staying – even one night – in the home they provided me. Even though nothing sinful was happening, appearances meant a great deal. And having Bella stay wouldn't look good to anyone.

"I was just going for a walk."

"It's not a great night for walking," I said, trying to keep my voice even.

He glanced past me over my shoulder. I didn't know what he was looking at, but I refused to turn around in case he could sense I was trying to hide something.

"It's not a great night for a lot of things." He gave nothing away with his inflection, but even in the dark of night, his darker eyes narrowed. Purposefully.

I prayed for the right words.

"I don't know," I said, gripping the book in my hand, "rainy nights are good for sleeping. Something about the white noise. So, if you don't mind, I think I'll turn in. See you Sunday, Alec."

I turned back toward the house, not waiting for his reply. But it still came. "See you Sunday, Brother Edward. That is…unless I see you before."

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I couldn't sleep that night – a combination of another disturbing interaction with Alex outside my house and the fact that Bella was sleeping the room right next to mine. Just the thought of her made me forget everything else.

Bella.

I knew her name. And just like her name, she was beautiful. More so than I thought in the beginning. She was hard, rough edges and steel. But there was something else about her. I'd seen it at dinner, and even more when she'd reached for me in her room. She was also soft, and yielding in ways that I hadn't expected. In fact, beautiful didn't begin to cover it.

She was something more.

In the quiet of the night, I kneeled down by my bed. I prayed. I asked God to lead me, to tell me what he wanted me to do. I couldn't deny that I believed that she was brought into my life or a reason. But I didn't understand the purpose beyond helping her – and even more than that – I didn't know what I supposed to do.

Who was I supposed to be for her?

Who was she supposed to be for me?

Clarity never came.

I finally fell into a restless sleep, only to be awoken by the sound of crying. No, not crying – screaming – just on the other side of my wall. I went to her room, and there on the bed, she was clutching a pillow, still deep in sleep.

"Bella," I said her name, but it wasn't loud enough to wake her. I reached out to touch her, to shake her shoulder and try to wake her up, but still nothing. Her cries only increased, and she grasped the pillow closer. "Bella, wake up." My voice was louder this time, my grip a little stronger.

"Stop!" she screamed, and I immediately dropped my hand only to realize that she was still sleeping and not speaking to me. "No…no, no, no…get off me!"

"Bella!" My voice was so loud that time it made me jump, but thankfully, she startled awake.

"What…" she looked around frantically, kicking the covers from her body. "What's happening?"

"You were…I think you were having a nightmare?"

She sat up in the bed, scrubbing her face. "I'm sorry. I didn't…I didn't mean to wake you up."

"Don't worry about that," I said, my own heart still hammering in my chest. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

She was lying. Those kinds of screams didn't come from a person who was fine.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," she said, lifting her arms and stretching her body. "Yeah, I'm good."

I wanted to tell her that I knew that wasn't the truth. I didn't really know what the truth was, but I knew she didn't have to be afraid. Not when she was with me. But my words got lost somewhere between my own pounding heart, and my inability to form a thought when I saw her naked leg stretch out in front of me. I averted my eyes and looked down at the floor.

"Do you need uh…something…anything? A glass of water…"

"Are you going to offer me some warm milk?" The bite was back in her tone, but it was mixed with a sleepy softness that made kneeling beside her all that more difficult…tempting.

"Why would I offer you warm milk?" I asked, unable to keep my voice even.

"I don't know," she said through a yawn. "I've seen people do it in movies or on TV. And I don't really know why. But mothers are always giving their kids warm milk to help them sleep. And warm milk sounds disgusting."

"My mother never offered me warm milk," I told her softly.

"Yeah," she said, her eyes meeting mine. She dropped back down, curling onto her side, facing me, studying me. "My mom never offered me warm milk either. But to be honest, I never had any problems going to sleep – or at least pretending to. Sleeping meant that I got to be alone in the bedroom. My mom…she had people over a lot."

"People?"

"Men…boyfriends or whatever."

I tried so hard to keep my face expressionless, but the words bubbled up before I could stop them. "They didn't…no one ever…"

She wrapped her arms tight around herself. "Can we…you know, not do this? I know I started it, but I really don't want to have a conversation about my fucked-up childhood."

"Sometimes talking helps," I urged her.

"Do you wanna go then?" she snapped. "You can talk about your childhood – about your mother who didn't bring you milk, and I'll listen. But if you don't mind, I'm done talking for the night."

I didn't know what to say, what to do to make her see that I only wanted to help her.

"Hey," she said, softer this time. "I appreciate this, you know? The place to stay for the night…a real bed. And I get that this is most likely a problem for you, with you being the pastor and all. But some things are private. My life is off limits. It's…it's just better that way."

She looked at me – really looked at me. And even in the dark with just the low light from the hallway casting shadows on her face, I could see her pain. And I wondered if she could see mine.

"Okay," I said, my hand shaking as I reached out, wanting to touch her. Just to stroke her face or touch her hair. I'd never been one for physical contact. At least not more than a handshake or friendly hug in passing. That happened a lot in my profession. But this – this moment with her – seemed intimate. And not because she was in bed, but because I felt so completely connected to her for reasons I didn't understand. Or maybe it was because wouldn't allow myself to admit the truth that lay deep inside me.

Her eyes widened, and I could see the fear inside them. And immediately, I dropped my hand to my lap.

"Thank you."

I nodded. "I'll be here, you know? Whenever you're ready to talk."

She closed her eyes, and I watched as a single tear slid down her cheek.

"What if I'm never ready?"

"Then I'll still be here."

"You don't mean that," she whispered. "You think you do, but then you don't…you won't. No one does. And my story – it's not a fucking parable from your precious Bible."

"I've got time to prove you wrong," I told her, meaning it with everything inside me. "And Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"The parables were never my favorite part of the Bible."

"What is?"

"The stories of salvation, redemption and love."

She slowly opened her eyes and with a bitter finality she said, "Some people aren't worth saving, and they're definitely not worth loving." And with that, she rolled away from me and faced the wall.

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A/N

Thank you for reading. Every single one of you.

As always, I couldn't do this without Marvar, and I wouldn't want to do this without Laura, Kourt and Jaime. I love them all more than Rob loves Peach Tea Snapple.

Reviews are love.


	14. Chapter 14

I should have expected her to leave.

I should have.

Yet somehow, when I woke up the next morning on the floor of the spare bedroom, my heart dropped when I saw that she was gone. The only evidence that she'd even been there at all – my t-shirt and boxers folded and placed on the foot of the made bed.

She'd left while I was sleeping.

And I didn't even hear her go.

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I hadn't always believed in the power of prayer. But as I sat on the front pew in the church, waiting for Carlisle to arrive, I prayed, consoled by my faith in God and the knowledge that he was listening.

He was listening.

He just wasn't giving me any answers.

At least, not that I could discern.

"Edward," Carlisle said, sitting down beside me. "How are you, son?"

"I'm…" I struggled to find the words. "I'm…well, I've been better, Carlisle."

"Well, now – and don't take this the wrong way," he said, smiling, "I was gonna say, I think you've seen better days. You look like the dish ran away with your spoon."

I nodded. "Something like that, I guess." I struggled with what to tell him, what to ask him. Because once I asked, there was no going back. But I had to ask. I had no way of knowing who Bella was or how I could help her. At least not on my own. "This is a small town, right? What I mean is, this is the kind of town where everyone knows everyone."

"For the most part, yes. I'd say that's a pretty truthful statement." He turned to the side, facing me completely. "What's all this about?"

"I…I met someone."

"I'm sure you have," he said, smiling. "I'm sure you've met the entire town at this point, but why do I get the feeling that you're not talking about meeting someone's grandmother or the town sheriff? He's an asshole, by the way. God forgive me for sayin' so in church, but he is. An old drunk who has only kept his position in town because the only thing people hate more than drunk assholes is change."

"Carlisle, if you don't mind, I don't really want to talk about the town sheriff…or drunk or whether or not they're the same person. I'm trying to tell you that I've…I've met someone."

His eyes lit up with recognition and he smiled. If he only knew that there was nothing about this situation to smile about.

"Well, no harm in that," he said, wrapping his arm around me and patting me on the shoulder. "You're a single young man – a man of God – but the last time I checked, not a single one of us here is Catholic. You are free to enjoy the company of a woman, Edward."

"It's not like that," I said, and even as I spoke, I knew it wasn't the whole truth. Because wasn't it like that? Hadn't I harbored feelings for her that went beyond friendship and concern? "She's…I think she's in trouble. And I want to…I'm trying to help her, but I don't know enough about her and I was just hoping…"

"You were hoping that because this is a small town, I might know her story and be able to offer you some insight."

It wasn't a question, but I answered him anyway. "I was."

I told him the story. Well, most of it, only leaving out the things that I felt would hurt or embarrass her. I didn't think Carlisle was judgmental, but he was still a deacon in the church and he did sit on the board. I was surprised by how the words poured out of me so candidly. And beyond that, I was relieved by the weight that seemed to lift from just getting it all out.

The whole time I spoke, he just looked at me with understanding eyes. He offered no words, asked no additional questions, and for that, I was grateful. But when I was finally finished, he did ask one thing, "What's her name, son?"

And I released it in a tremulous breath, "Bella."

He nodded, his hand squeezing my shoulder once. And we both sat there, facing the altar and not saying another word for a while. "I'm gonna ask you something," he said, breaking the silence. "I believe you're a good man. So, I'm hoping that when I ask you, you're gonna live up to that and give me an honest answer."

"Of course."

"This Bella…you care about her? And not just in the way you care about some lost sheep from your fold. You have…_feelings_ for her?"

And when he looked at me and asked me like that, I couldn't lie. Not to him. Not even to myself.

"I do. God help me, but I do."

"_Give careful thought to the paths for your feet and be steadfast in all your ways_." He voiced the scripture without stumbling even once.

"What do you mean?" I asked, even though I was pretty sure I knew what he was thinking.

"I want you to think long and hard about what you're about to do. Or maybe what you've already done. And be careful with that one, Edward."

I didn't like the way he warned me about her. I might not have known her story, but in my heart, I _knew _her. And I knew that no matter what lie in her past, she was good regardless of how she was broken.

"But what if _that one_ was sent to me for a reason?" And in a moment of vulnerability, I added, "Or maybe I was sent to her."

"No, son, you misunderstand me." He turned to face me completely. "I'm not saying that you shouldn't take the path that has so clearly been presented, I'm just saying be careful. _With her_. My concern is _for_ her. Not _with_ her."

"What do you mean? Why are you concerned for her? What has happened to her?"

I couldn't help the panic that rose up in my chest. I still didn't have all the answers, and the pieces of the puzzle that I did have painted a frightening picture.

"I don't know her story. Not everything anyway. You were right about this being a small town. People do know things, but if what I think I know about her is any version of the truth, that is not my story to tell. Especially to you."

"Why me?"

"Because I think you're right, son," he said. "I think that maybe God is at work here. Not just in her life…but also in yours. And heed my warning, son. When I tell you to take care – I mean it. Those who would hurt her – who have hurt her – would just as easily hurt you."

"Who has hurt her?" I asked, frantic because she was gone. Because she wasn't with me, and if she wasn't with me then there was no way I could keep her safe.

"It's her story, Edward. Not mine. And even though you still haven't told me anything, I know that you have a story of your own. I know that there's a lot of pain and suffering in your past, and I can't help but think that this is gonna bring it all right into your present. You have demons, son. Demons that haven't been fully exorcised yet. Share them with her. And when you're ready – share them with me. I promise, I'll be there to help you both when you're ready. But make no mistake, Edward. You need to be ready."

His words were too much to deal with, too much to try and think about.

"Can you tell me where I can find her?"

"Go home, son," he said, standing up. "The devil might be at work here, but so is the Lord. And if He has His way, I reckon she's gonna find you again. Or maybe you'll find that you didn't really lose her to begin with."

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I locked up the church and headed back to the parsonage. Carlisle's words ran in a loop in my mind the whole way.

What did he mean?

Would she come back?

And if she did come back, how was I supposed to help her? From whom was I supposed to keep her safe? And not just her – Carlisle said they would also hurt me.

I didn't care about myself.

I only cared about her.

About Bella.

He'd seemed so sure, but nothing in this life was ever sure or certain. At least nothing in my life had been except God. But when I looked up on the porch, she was there – sitting in the afternoon sun like nothing had ever happened. Like I hadn't just spent the morning wondering where she was or what I'd done wrong.

I approached her quietly, softly.

I stepped up on the porch and said, "You were gone."

"I needed to get some things," she said, motioning to her bag on the floor. "And you were gone, too."

"I didn't mean to be." I held her eyes as I leaned over and picked up her belongings. "Don't do that again, okay? Don't run away without saying something first."

"I didn't run away," she said. "I came back."

She looked at her bag in my hand before asking, "Did you still want me to stay?"

I didn't even answer. I just reached out my other hand, waiting for her to take it.

She did.

And with the summer sun on our backs, we walked inside.

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A/N

So, I'm sorry for the long wait for the update. Work has been kicking my ass. Thank you for still reading.

Marvar is my bestie and I adore her. I couldn't write a single thing without her. Well, not anything that would be worth reading.

And as always, I love Jaime, Kourt and Laura sofa king much for pre-reading and a million other things.

Reviews are love.


	15. Chapter 15

I'd never shared a home with anyone in my adult life – not since college. And even then, it was only a dorm room with another student. And never a woman. It struck me as I sat in the living room that a woman was in my house, unpacking her belongings so she could stay with me.

It felt wrong on so many levels.

But at the same time, it felt right.

Bella was still in her room when I heard a knock at the door. I panicked for a second, wondering who was at the door. While Carlisle knew she'd stayed with me and seemed okay with it, I knew it wouldn't be the case with the other parishioners. I struggled with the urge to go into her room and ask her to stay inside, but I knew that would be hurtful. Like I was hiding her. Like she was something I should be ashamed of. And the moment that thought crossed my mind, I knew that hurting her like that wasn't an option.

I wasn't ashamed of her.

And beyond that, I would never add to the shame that I feared she already carried.

So, I opened the door.

I didn't know who I expected to be there, but of all the people I could have imagined, I would have never anticipated Aro's daughter, Jane. Yet there she stood, on the front porch with a gingham-covered basket.

"Brother Edward," she said softly. "I was hoping I'd find you here. I stopped at the church first, but no one was there."

"Jane, hello," I said cautiously. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, I was hoping that I could do something for you. In fact, I have." She lifted up the basket. "Would it be okay…well, would you mind if I came inside?"

"Of course," I said, shaking my head. "Where are my manners?"

I pushed the door open and stepped aside so she could enter, the entire time wondering just how badly the situation could turn if Bella decided to make an appearance at that moment.

"Can I place this somewhere?" she asked. "Perhaps your kitchen?"

"Yes, please. The kitchen is right through here."

She placed the basket on the table and looked around before settling her eyes on me.

"I haven't been inside the parsonage since I was in high school. It looks a lot…different," she said. "It seems bigger somehow. Maybe because our last pastor was married with a large family. And now, it's just you."

I didn't know if I was overly nervous because it wasn't, in fact, just me anymore. Or maybe it was because of the way she was looking at me, assessing me.

"Yes." I nodded. "And I didn't have a whole lot to bring with me, so all the furniture, everything here, was provided by the church."

She smiled and glanced around again. "Well, the church needs to update its taste. Or maybe you just need someone to help you out. A woman's touch, perhaps. Someone to make it feel a little less stark, a little more lived-in."

There was no subtlety in her comments. And while she hadn't said anything inappropriate, I clearly understood the intention behind her words.

"I don't mind it," I told her honestly. "I am here to serve, in whatever capacity the Lord sees fit. I feel blessed to have a home at all, regardless of how humble it may be. Jesus walked the earth as a servant, and by his own admission, had no place to lay his head."

"You're right," she said, looking down. "Of course, you're right." She clasped her hands clasped in front of her, her fingers twisting together nervously. Guilt stabbed at me. I hadn't meant to condescend or be dismissive, but just as I was about to apologize, she looked up and said, "But Jesus was the son of God, living a predestined life mapped out by his father. His human existence was one of sacrifice, and he did ultimately surrender everything. And yes, while you are a servant, and have every right to do it meekly and modestly, no one is asking that you give up everything. Even Jesus accepted the charity, the friendship, the love of others when it was offered."

I stood there, stunned…wordless.

Because she was right.

"I know what you must think of me," she said softly. So softly, I found myself leaning forward just to hear her. "I know what most people think of me…or any young, Christian woman my age. That we're all looking for a husband. And I know that's what it must seem like since I've shown up here with a basket of food. But I wasn't looking for that, Brother Edward. I didn't come here with an agenda. I made you these things because you're new here, and because I thought that you might be hungry. And yes, I hoped that you might possibly invite me to join you. But not because I want you to offer me anything more than that. I was thinking that maybe you could use a friend. Because I know I could."

"I'm sorry, Jane." I said it because it was the truth. And because there was nothing left to say in addition, I remained silent.

"I'll tell you what," she said, offering me a slight smile. "If you'd ever like to talk, if you'd ever…like anything else at all. My offer of friendship stands. I'll see you on Sunday, Brother Edward. I'm looking forward to your message."

And without another word, she walked into the living room and out the front door.

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When Bella still hadn't come out of her bedroom almost a half-hour later, I walked down the hall and knocked softly on her door. She pushed it open, stepping to the side, and from the entrance, I could see that her bag was still on the bed. Unpacked.

"Oh, ummm…" I stammered. "I thought maybe you would have settled in by now."

She bit her bottom lip, her dark eyes lifting up to meet mine. "I don't know…" she said before turning on her heels and walking over to the bed. Her hand traced the shape of her tattered bag. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

I sighed deeply. "No." It was honest, even though it probably wasn't what she wanted to hear. I made my way across the room, nodding to the bed in a silent request to sit down. And when she didn't deny me, I took a seat. "But I think it's the right thing to do."

She sat down on the floor in front of me, folding her slender legs and pulling them against her chest.

"For who?" she asked. "You or me?"

"I'm not sure," I said. "Maybe both of us."

"I don't…I'm not sure I know what you mean by that."

"I'd like to tell you…" I started, but just like always, the words wouldn't come. But all I had to do was think about the kind of hardships she must have endured, the kind of pain and suffering that must have led her to this place. The kind of trust – however little – she had to have come back. And when I did, the words were there. "I'd like to tell you about myself, Bella. If you wouldn't mind listening."

"I don't want to do this," she said, wrapping her arms around her knees. Her position was defensive, self-protective. And I understood that so much more than she knew. "Not if you're just telling me your things so I'll tell you mine."

"You don't have to tell me anything," I said softly. "You only have to listen."

She smiled. It was small, but it was there.

"I can do that."

"Are you hungry?" I asked.

"Maybe."

"Let's go get something to eat."

We walked into the kitchen, and her eyes immediately went to the basket on the table. "You packed us a lunch?" Before I could correct her, she continued, "There's…this place. I go there sometimes when I want to be alone. It's quiet. If you wanted…we could go there together. Eat this there."

"Like a picnic?"

"Yeah, I guess," she said, her fingers sliding along the handle almost reverently. "And if you want…you could talk to me there. Tell me whatever it is you wanted to tell me."

"How far away is it?" I asked.

"Not that far," she said. "We could walk."

"Okay," I agreed taking the basket from her hand. "Lead the way."

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A/N

So, I suck. And I have no excuses except that life and work happened. But thank you for your patience if you're still reading. I promise to try to do so much better.

Thank you to Marvar for being the best ever in the history of the world. She makes everything better and I love her. Also, her fic, Suit Up, won 1st place in the Make Me Laugh Contest. Please check it out and leave it some love.

Jaime, Kourt and Laura are the best prereaders and just the most amazing, wonderful women. I simply adore them.


	16. Chapter 16

I didn't know where we were going as she led the way; I only knew I was willing to follow. It wasn't long until we cut off the main street and went down a dirt road. There was nothing around, really. Not even a house. And as I looked around, I saw that we were surrounded by hills covered in green foliage, deep and dark and vibrant from the summer sun and rain.

When she veered off to the side and started to climb over an old wooden fence, I paused. "Are you sure we should be here?" I asked. She laughed and rolled her eyes. "Yes, pastor. You're not gonna be breaking any laws. This isn't someone's property. At least, not that I'm aware of. And the only people that live up here are all the way at the head of the hollow. Now, give me the basket while you climb over."

I stood there, still uncertain about doing it. But in the end, her anxious smile won me over, so I handed her the basket. Once I was on the other side, I took it back and she started up the hill. There was no real path, but I could see that there was a well-worn trail that someone had walked. And I wondered if she was the only one who ever came to this place.

When we reached the top of the hill, there was a little clearing that overlooked a creek. Bella didn't say anything; instead, she walked over to the edge and sat down in the grass, making me wish I'd brought a blanket or sheet for us to sit on. I placed the basket between us and joined her. It was quiet except for the sounds of the water running downstream and the birds in the trees overhead. And as we sat there in silence, I could see why this was a place she liked to come and be alone.

The longer we sat there, the more nervous I became about talking. I'd never really talked about my past with anyone, not since I was much younger. And even then, it had been different. I'd shared my story out of necessity at that time, but this – this was something else. This was me opening up to someone other than God.

"It's beautiful up here," I said softly, picking up a smooth stone beside me and rubbing it between my thumb and fingers. "How did you find it?"

"There's a cemetery on the other side of the hill," she said, as if it explained her answer. It didn't, so I looked at her. Her eyes held a million fears and questions, but after a long pause, she continued. "My grandma is buried there. And sometimes I would come up here. I never had flowers or anything to put on her grave, except in the spring. Wildflowers grow along the hillside, so I would pick them to bring to her. But mostly…mostly I came to talk to her. That's weird, right?"

"No," I told her, squeezing the stone gently in my palm, wishing it was her hand. "It's not weird. Were you close?"

"Yeah…I mean, I guess. She died when I was pretty young. I was ten. But I stayed with her a lot. More than I stayed at home even. But whenever I was home, I used to sneak out at night after my mom…" A pained expression hardened her beautiful face. She looked away – out over the creek – but continued talking after a moment. "Anyway, after my mom was…in bed, I would sneak out and go to my grandma's. She had a door on the side of the house that went to her bedroom. She would always leave it unlocked. And I would just go in and crawl in bed with her. Sometimes we would watch TV together if it wasn't too late, and sometimes she would brush my hair and braid it…"

"You loved her," I said softly.

"She loved me."

The basket between us was suddenly a cavern, something too wide and deep to cross. But I wanted to – in that moment – I wanted to reach over and pull her in my arms. I wanted to erase the pain on her face, the absolute hurt in her eyes. I wanted her to know that love existed for her in the world, not just in some memory she held inside. But the moment I thought about the word _love_, panic struck me, and I didn't know why.

_You do know why._

It was a whisper to my soul. A message I didn't want to hear. Not because I didn't love her, not because I couldn't offer her the kind of love that I thought she needed.

Friendly love.

Godly love.

But it was because when I looked at her, she stirred something more in me than that. She made me want to hold her and kiss her. I wanted to know what she felt like in my arms, under my hands. I wanted to feel her soft lips pressed against mine. She stirred a desire in me I'd never possessed, awakened a need in me I thought I was immune to. And she had from the first moment I saw her.

But Bella didn't need that kind of love.

She needed friendship.

She needed protection.

_From those that would hurt her_. Carlisle's words rang clearly in my mind.

"You always do this," she said, pulling her knees to her chest. I didn't like it – the defensive position she gravitated toward when she felt insecure. "You tell me that you're going to share, and I'm the one who ends up talking. Do they teach you how to do that in pastor school?"

I chuckled at her words, even as the sting of truth pierced me. She was right. I had told her that I wanted to talk.

"Seminary," I said.

"What's that?"

"Seminary is what they call pastor school."

"I like my way better," she said. "You know what it means. Religious people are always doing that. Everything means something else. Every sermon has a hidden message. Hell, even the Bible has a hundred translations, and from that, a million interpretations of the same fucking words." She looked down, causing her hair to fall and cover her face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…I don't want to offend you."

"You didn't," I told her honestly.

After a few moments, she looked up. "You said we were gonna eat. So, can we? And then, you can keep your word and tell me whatever it is you wanted to say. I won't get distracted this time. Well, I won't if you don't ask me any more questions."

"We can eat," I told her, smiling. Her returning smile covered me, coated me in warmth. "And then I'll talk. No more questions. I promise."

I reached in the basket, pulling the cloth napkins from the top. There were Ziplock bags of half-melted ice just underneath, and when I took them out, I was pleased to see bottles of water, a plate of sandwiches, scones, and a jar of some kind of homemade berry preserves.

"This looks good," I told her, pushing back the feeling of guilt that still lingered from my interaction with Jane.

"You didn't make this?"

"No," I told her, wishing so much that I had once I saw how her face fell. It should have been me. I should have made her something to eat with my own hands. I should have offered her something that was intended for only her. "_Someone_…from the church brought it over. But I would have made you lunch. I can…I mean, I will. If you'll let me."

"Yeah?"

"Yes," I said, relief coursing through me at the hopeful sound of her voice. "Whatever you want. I mean, I'm not that good in the kitchen, but I could probably manage sandwiches."

"Okay."

"But if you're hungry, we should eat this," I urged her. "It's here, and we're here…and well, it shouldn't go to waste."

I took out the plate of sandwiches and offered her one first. Her fingers lingered on mine, causing the same shiver of sensation I always got whenever she touched me. I didn't move, not even an inch. I didn't want the contact to end. She blushed, though, and as soon as the color rushed to her cheeks, she pulled her hand back, leaving me at a loss.

Of words.

Of air.

Of everything.

I grabbed a sandwich of my own and bit in. I didn't look at her as I ate; instead, I leaned my head back, closed my eyes, and enjoyed the food. It was chicken salad. It was lovely.

"This is good," I said after swallowing the first bite. "I've never tasted anything like it. I wonder what's in it that makes so…"

"It's fresh cut dill from the garden," she interrupted, her voice suddenly hard. The change in her tone was so startling, I had to open my eyes and look over at her. "Who made this?"

"I…umm…I told you," I stammered, feeling nervous for reasons I didn't understand. "Someone from church."

"Who?" Her voice cracked on the word. And as I looked at her, I could see the flush that seemed so tentative and sweet only moments before, was suddenly red…angry.

"It was…"

"No," she said sharply, throwing the sandwich over the bank and into the creek. "I know who, and I'm not eating it."

"Wait, Bella. What's wrong? What do you mean you know?"

"I've had this before," she said. "I can't believe I didn't know it. I should have…I should have fucking known!"

"Bella, I don't understand," I said, dropping my own sandwich on the ground and reaching out for her.

She pressed back on her hands, scooting frantically away from me. And it was like she was the girl that night in the church all over again – angry and scared…and about to run. And I couldn't let her. Not after everything that had happened.

"God, I'm so fucking stupid," she said to herself as she stood up. She looked down at me and then over to the basket. "It's a pretty package. I get it. Anything can be pretty if you cover it up enough. There's a parable in the Bible about it, right? Something about a wolf in sheep's clothing."

I stood up quickly, almost stumbling into her. "I don't understand what you're talking about, Bella. Please, tell me what just happened. What's going on?"

I was scared – panicked like her – only I didn't know why.

"Do they know where I am? That I'm with you? I mean, staying with you."

"Who?"

"_The Volturis_," her voice was like acid as she said the name, and then she ran over to the edge of the creek, heaving, just before she threw up.

I rushed over to her, my hands shaking as I touched her back. I could feel the trembling of her body from the choked sobs. "Bella, no," I tried to tell her. "No one knows. No one except Carlisle. What's going on? Please…please, just tell me."

"I can't," she cried, standing up, and wiping her face and mouth with the back of her hand. "You don't know…I can't." A gust of wind whipped through the clearing, blowing her long hair all around her tear-stained face. It was almost like there was a storm coming in, but there wasn't a cloud in sight that wasn't in her eyes. "I thought I could do this, Edward. But…I fucking can't."

She took off into the woods before I could stop her.

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A/N

Reviews are love.

Thank you for reading. You guys really are the best ever in the history of the world.

FYI: I wrote a new fic with JaimeArkin – Confessions After Dark. We're posting under the penname 2DrunkUnicorns. It's super sexy and I know you would enjoy. It updates twice a day, so I hope you'll check it out.

Also, we're nominated for Fic of the Week at The Lemonade Stand if you're inclined to vote.

My love for Marvar is endless. She betas all the words and makes them pretty.

My prereaders are amazing – Jaime, Kourt and Laura. I love you all, too!


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